Sanitarium
by Sage Pagan
Summary: One of the world's deadliest assassins has been caught. Trapped within the walls of an insane asylum, the notorious, coldhearted killer, Nina Williams, must now face her darkest fear: her own mind.
1. Persephone

Yes...Sage Pagan has returned. Finally. So this is my first Nina story. It seems as if nobody writes about her nowadays, and I'm bringing her back to the front to remind you that, yes, she still kicks ass, even if she doesn't love Jin Kazama and wear pink. Nina is one of my two favorite female Tekken characters (Julia being the other) and I've decided to delve deeper into her mind and her story, for Nina is way too interesting to be ignored. This story is much darker than my previous fics, and it is the only one that will not contain any romance; to me Nina Williams is a loner. Nobody fits her, and that's how she likes it. Anyways, enjoy.

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**1: Persephone **

**_Prologue_: Death Whispered a Lullaby**

_Ring around the rosy…_

Around and around again she went, like a child, flashes of light, intoxicating, peony cotton candy, greasy fingertips and caramel teeth, white horse and pink pigtails dancing, strawberry sweet laughter and cherry blossom smile, tender kisses and tall lemonades. Innocence swinging, precarious, fragile leaf on the weeping willow as the panther waited and watched bellow.

Ling Xiaoyu loved vanilla ice cream. She liked a drizzle of strawberry sauce, a dollop of whipped cream, cookie crumbs along the edges, and of course, the liberal dose of rainbow-spattered sprinkles on top. She liked long walks in the neighborhood, holding hands with Jin Kazama, and wasting long, countless hours in the amusement park riding the Ferris wheel and carousel.

Approximately one hundred and five pounds, twenty-one years old, five foot two, more or less, talented martial artist, one panda, one job (waitress at _Peking Pagoda_, hadn't received a raise in six months), one man, one friend, one annoying little laugh. She woke up at 8:00 sharp, went for a walk every morning, maybe caught a movie with Miharu in the afternoon, perhaps went out to dinner with Jin at the local café, then came back for some relaxation in her cramped little dorm. Biology and business management—an A student. Was recovering from the cold, allergic to coconut, liked crappy, cheesy romance flicks, and was fluent in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin.

Nina Williams knew all of this within three days. She didn't want to, but she did.

They showed her a picture, gave her the location, and she did the rest. They hadn't given her a reason as to why Xiaoyu should be destroyed, but it was unimportant to the blonde. She was paid well to do her job, and this particular assignment came with another bonus: Jin Kazama would be there. Jin Kazama, born from the family who had ruined Nina's life, loved Ling Xiaoyu. The Chinese woman should have been dead by now. All of this "stalking nonsense" was going to be a waste of time anyway, seeing how Ling would be six feet under in approximately three hours or less. But Nina had her eyes on the Kazama boy, and Ling could wait.

The blade-thin cell phone vibrated against her thigh.

"Williams," she mumbled into the phone, sipping her milk tea as Ling Xiaoyu crossed the street. She wore a white dress today, a pale shroud.

"It has been six days, Nina—no, now seven, counting today. What the hell are you doing? The Chinese woman should have been dead at least three days ago!"

"Relax, Rodrigo," she purred, "the job will get done soon enough. I've never failed, remember?"

"Bullshit. It shouldn't be taking this long."

Nina ignored her boss's anger. "'Rigo, I have never someone so stupid in my life. Why do people go to amusement parks anyway?"

"What?"

"She's consumed about eleven packages of those mini donuts."

"What the hell are you talking about."

"The subject."

"The subject should be dead. What are you doing profiling her for?"

"I'm not. It's not like I wanted to know everything about her; I just do. After only three days of watching this woman—"

Rodrigo snarled, "You are an _assassin_, Nina, a killer who does her job quickly and as soon as possible. You don't waste time observing worthless information. Maybe I should have found someone else."

"Careful, Rodrigo," she murmured, "remember, I'm the best you've ever had. And I need to have my fun too once in awhile."

"Just get the job done, Williams. If not, you'll get half of what you asked for."

"Threats don't work on me, remember? Just make sure the money's ready by tomorrow afternoon," the blonde woman replied, then hung up.

Ling was returning from her walk, and, to Nina's amusement, Jin accompanied her. They were alone, just the three of them at the children's playground, the swings swaying gently from the twilight breeze. Xiaoyu took a seat on one of them, soft laughter ringing and white dress billowing about her legs.

Setting her tea down, Nina removed her jacket; she wore black.

And as the leaves fell from the weeping tree, the panther leaped…

Rising and falling, the swing soared high as Ling jumped, pale gown, like a funeral shroud. Catching her in the air, Nina lunged, the flying sidekick colliding into Xiaoyu's belly. Caught off guard, she landed with a moan onto the concrete, clutching her side.

_Pockets full of posy…_

Blocking a jab from Jin, Nina then ducked down low, shifted swiftly, and seized one of the Japanese man's legs. Desperate, he lashed out with his free foot, but the assassin was much too fast and twisted, a small smile warping her mouth as she heard the satisfying crunch. Knowing that Jin ("that tenacious bastard") would continue to fight even with his broken ankle, Nina quickly leaped away from his reach. Breathing heavily, Ling rose from the ground, and in a rage lunged towards her assailant. Clouded by her fear and anger, her movements were sloppy, random, and the assassin used this to her advantage. Calm and calculating, the blonde bided her time, allowing Xiaoyu to attack, knowing that in a few moments the adrenaline would evaporate and her life would be hers to take. It was almost beautiful, this dance of death, lovely and graceful, elegance, white against black, whirling, bending and twisting on autumn's breath, the smell of spilled blood fresh on the wind.

_Ashes…_

Dodging a palm strike, Nina swung around, pale hair flying, and sent a flurry of ruthless jabs to Ling's back and neck. Grunting in pain, she quickly recovered, though shakily, and faced Nina once more, blood oozing out of her nose and mouth.

"Who are you? What do you want!" she cried as she blocked Nina's uppercut.

Not bothering to answer, the blonde merely smiled, unsheathing the thin sliver blade from inside her boot; the assassin could almost taste Xiao's fear as the woman caught sight of the knife. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Jin staggering towards them, and the blonde wasted no more time. She would cause him the same pain his family had caused her years before when they'd taken away her mind and her life…and now it was time to avenge those losses.

…_ashes…_

Before Xiao could react, Nina was behind her, the blade pressed firmly up against her throat, the icy metal sending shivers of fear through her skin.

"Jin…" Xiao sighed, as the hot tears branded her cheeks.

"Noooooooo!"

Nina made sure he was watching…

_We all fall down. _

Scarlet warmth stained Nina's hands, stained the front of Ling's vanilla dress, stained the blade and the little white pebbles beneath their feet, fallen innocence and another mission complete.

Sirens wailing, in the distance. Someone must have seen. Sheathing the knife, Nina abandoned the dead woman and her mourning lover, sped down an alley and disappeared into the gray. She could hear the thunder of Jin's pursuit behind her, and then only the gasping breaths of failure as all he found was darkness. He wept, and Nina felt only the cold shadows drawing her close. She'd done this countless times before, and would continue to feel nothing.

Wiping the blood from her skin, Nina took the cell phone into her hands.

"Rodrigo. It is done."

**Caged Predator**

Persephone with her sunshine-kissed hair and bluebell laughter tasted the pomegranate seed on her tongue and fled the Underworld. She escaped to the world of life above, into her mother, Demeter's, arms and waited for the light to come. But Hades, Lord of Death, knew she would have to return to the Underworld, for naïve Persephone had, unknowingly, tasted the food of the dead. And so he waited for her, for the frost that would bring her to him, bride of Hades and lost soul of light, mistress of the darkness and the dead.

Forced to remain within the sweet confines of this darkness and emptiness, I wonder if my spring will ever come. For Persephone is only allowed to taste the light during spring…

And the blood, the blood is the only thing that tastes real. Bittersweet, deceiving, fatal pomegranate juice. It is the one definite thing I can remember; it taints my hands and has woven a curse about my heart. I know too much. I have seen too much.

I let the taste of it linger for a moment, dancing and playing across my taste buds before swallowing. They are a crimson mess, my fingernails, with bits of dangling skin dotting the edges and the nails bitten down to the quick, the blood pooling and crusting in little droplets. It looks almost pretty, the scarlet rose petals against my pale skin, like Anna's red jacket against the blinding snow.

Shutting my eyes, my mind immediately rejects the memory. I don't want to remember her right now, for I only feel rage when my mind recalls my sister. Yet it is this crimson rage that helps to keep her face intact, or else I would have already forgotten her.

Hate is a beautiful thing, isn't it?

A gentle tapping comes from the door, and my mind is thrown into the present, into the white walled cage they've shoved me into. Opening my eyes, I let my shocked irises readjust to the vicious glare of the lights.

Here at the _Osiris Institution _we are all simply "crazies" stuck in the same loony bin. Nobody really listens and nobody really cares, that's the truth of it. After all, we're insane; cold isolation and bleached walls and a couple dozen pills will always do the trick. This is the place where society discards their refuse, their unwanted memories and their incurable wounds, because it's easier to ignore what you can't understand. The doctors, they come and they go, with their fancy white lab coats and little wooden clipboards, with their poisoned words of promise and barbed wire smiles.

I enjoy seeing them every time.

After another knock, slightly harder this time, the doctor comes in. I have two doctors, one male, one female (and about a million nurses), but for some reason my mind does not mind the male doctor. There has always been something about him that my mind seems to like, whereas the female doctor is simply hopeless. The woman psychiatrist, based on our previous conversations, seemed as if she had already given up on me. Not like it matters. After all, nobody has ever been able to put the puzzle pieces of my mind together, and she was just another failure to add to the long list.

"Hello, Ms. Williams. How are we doing today?" came the routine question. He's asked me that same question everyday for the last three months until my mind actually remembered it. Pretty big accomplishment on his part, seeing how I can't remember anything of importance for more than a few days or so. I used to be better at remembering. In the past, I couldn't remember anything before my awakening from the cryo-sleep, but recalling events afterwards were easy. Now, things are beginning to change: the present is slowly slipping away from me as well as the past. Something happened—but I can't remember what. What did they do to me while I'd been "sleeping"?

Not bothering to answer the doctor, I recline back onto the sterile little bed, penetrating his eyes with mine in a way I know will make him squirm in discomfort. And, as predicted, the doctor shifts several times in his seat, clearing his throat and looking everywhere but into my face. The corner of my mouth curls slightly in the beginnings of a half smile. Who's the patient now, Doctor? It's quite amusing actually. I enjoy the fear I instill into the people here, especially the doctors, those good for nothing wannabe saviors and intellectuals who think they know everything about my mind. Several have come to me in an attempt to "cure" my "illness" and "solve" my problems, and all have consistently failed miserably. In the end only two tenacious (and pretty damn stupid) doctors remain, and both of them were no more than twenty-three or twenty-five, fresh young shoots sprung from the earth ready to see what happy little life had to offer after college—in an insane asylum of all places. Yes, very amusing indeed.

He wasn't bad looking, this male doctor. Blonde hair tops his head, with indigo eyes surprisingly friendly—and annoyingly curious—and a wide mouth that at times curves back into a nice enough smile…and I hate him. He is a fake, just like everyone else here. To him I am just another statistic to put into the textbooks. Not like I actually want someone to care; it's just the part where they all think they can save me is what's bothersome. _No_ _one_ has been able to cure me; nobody understands—and that's how I like it. I can handle my own problems, thanks, but they don't seem to agree. Everybody wants to be a hero nowadays, especially when it comes to the most difficult case they'd ever faced: me. And who ever solved the case got a big fat gaudy medal, or else some other kind of lame recognition that would be passed down in the classroom volumes, only to be forgotten on the long road.

"Nina."

I yawn and reluctantly turn my head towards him.

Clearing his throat, the doctor tries again. "Ms. Williams…do you remember me?"

There's a small window near the ceiling of my white cell, and a little sliver of light escapes into the room. Too bad I can't climb that high. The walls are too smooth. Is it still winter outside?

"Ms. Williams?"

Knowing that he wouldn't stop with the stupid questions, I decided to end this game of mine.

"Yes. You're Stanley Wolf, the man who thinks he can help me."

Flashing me the artificial smile, Dr. Wolf nods, jotting down a few quick notes onto his clipboard. I roll my eyes, then stare up at the ceiling. What does he want _this_ time?

"Your memory's getting a lot better. Last week you didn't even recognize me," he comments.

"Sure, sure," I mutter, peeling at the skin on my fingertips, "Stanley Wolf…it's also on your nametag."

He laughs, loud and hard, and I'm taken aback slightly, almost afraid: I haven't heard the sound of laughter in many months.

"It's not that funny. Besides, the name doesn't fit you," I growled in an attempt to shut him up.

Laughter abating, the doctor hesitates, unsure of how to respond, then smiles slightly. "Well, that's my name. Thank my parents."

"Whatever."

"Why do you say that if you don't mind my asking?" he asks, genuinely curious, as he flashes me another half-hearted grin. The pen is in his hands, poised like a music box ballerina dancer, above the clipboard. Anna used to have a music box like that…fuck. Anna again.

"Stop that," I snarl, biting at my nails again, and all thoughts of his name disappear.

"Stop what, Ms. Williams?"

"Smiling. And it's _Nina_."

Dr. Wolf clears his throat and doesn't do so again, to my relief. He continues to write on his clipboard, and proceeds to ask me a few more aimless questions.

"Do you know why you're in here, Nina?"

"Yes," I answer with a cold smile, and the doctor looks away again.

"Can you tell me?"

My smile widens, and I raise myself off the bed. "Because I kill for a living, Doc. And because I'm too 'crazy' for a normal prison cell."

Before I was arrested and forced into this sterile, four-walled cage, I used to be one of the most skilled assassins in the world. If you gave me enough money, I'd kill anyone for you, whether it was a lowly gang leader or an all-powerful drug lord. I've never failed, except for a couple times, when I'd failed to destroy Jin Kazama and his family, and also when attempting to take the life of boxing champion Steve Fox.

Steve Fox…that name triggers something…

"Do you remember your last victim?" came Dr. Wolf's voice.

"Yes, I remember. She was so young, barely twenty-two I believe. She loved Jin Kazama," I reply, staring up into the ceiling.

"Why did you kill her, Nina?" the doctor asks softly, blue eyes narrowed.

"Why not? They hired me to do it, and if it would break Jin's heart, then that was even better. Besides, she was way too happy and stupid; I hate people like that. They're just ignorant."

"You murdered a woman named Ling Xiaoyu, Nina. She was one of the world's most talented martial artists."

I smile. "Well then that's good. It just means that I'm better."

The doctor looks seriously disturbed now and he fails to disguise it as he glances quickly over the contents of his papers.

"Would you like to know how she died?" I whispered, forcing his eyes to mine, "would you like to know the sound of her voice as she bled? Or the color of her dress?"

As predicted, Dr. Wolf leaps out of his chair and pockets his ballpoint pen.

"No, we'll save that for next time. I think that will be all for now, Ms. Williams," he says hastily, then flees through the door.

Satisfied, I lean back against the bed and think about that woman I'd killed a few months back. I have already forgotten her name—but she doesn't need a name. All I remember now is the blinking, iridescent lights of the carousel and that pretty white dress, the front of it all stained with red, like a clumsy spill of fruit punch. I remember her warmth ebbing away beneath my hands as the silver blade carved a smiley face across her throat, like a Halloween jack-o-lantern, or a pretty choker of rubies.

Maybe she'd had a life. Maybe she hadn't deserved to die. Some of my victims did deserve death, or worse, but maybe this woman in the white dress hadn't.

And for an instant, I almost regret what I did. I almost feel sympathy for the tears on Jin Kazama's face and for that innocence I obliterated that day…

Almost.

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_**Disturbing and macabre, I know. But tell me what you think anyway.**_


	2. Lost Cause

**Short chapter, but hope you like it.**

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**2: Lost Cause **

**Dr. Wolf**

"It's hopeless; she's never going to remember anything that might help us. Just let someone else handle her."

Sighing, I rub my weary eyes and turn to face her.

"You know as well as I do that nobody else can handle her," I say.

"Including you, Doctor," she grumbles as she removes her bag lunch from the fridge.

Julia Chang sips her bottle of water, eyebrows furrowed. "Look at you. You haven't had a good night's sleep in days, you're always exhausted, and you've lost too much weight. Is she worth all that?"

Sighing heavily, I turn to face her, running a hand through my hair.

"Look, I'm the one who chose to work with her, and I'm not going to just give up like everyone else has. If I do, then that poor woman has no one else."

"And that's as it should be. She hasn't progressed at all," retorts the female doctor, "believe me, I don't give up easily either. I want to help as well, but I can't—we—can't keep wasting time on a lost cause. There are several other patients that need us too."

Frustrated, I reply, "No, you don't understand. To every mind there is a key that will unlock it, and I will find it. I don't care how long it takes. We can't just ignore her."

"Then you might as well throw away your life," Julia grumbles, "that woman is seriously screwed up. I never thought I'd say this but…it's hopeless. There's no helping her."

Julia would never understand; to me, Nina Williams is much more than just any ordinary patient.

The Native American woman sips her drink again. "I know, I know, these things 'take time.' But with Williams, there has been no progress in the five months that she's been here, _none_ whatsoever. When I had her before you, all she'd do was sit there and talk about nonsense."

"It wasn't nonsense, Julia; you just weren't listening."

"No, no, no. You don't understand. Tell me, how does one listen to the brutal, grotesque details of assassinations? All she talked about was how she killed her victims and how good she was at doing it. After listening to that for months on end, I think you'd want to give up too. The only conclusion I came up with was that she's a fucked up, murderous psychopath with only half a mind left, if any."

Julia glares over at me, crossing her arms, waiting for me to reply. Sighing, I have no answer to that one, and instead close my eyes for a moment.

Gently, she places her hand on my forearm, a tight squeeze, warm—meaningless. "I worry for you. Remember that time she tried to kill you?"

"She killed for a living, what do you expect? Besides, she wasn't herself."

"Then tell me: who _is_ she, hm? _She_ doesn't even know. 'Herself' or not, Nina Williams is still, first and foremost, a killer. It's one of the few things about herself she actually remembers, and that alone should tell you something."

Julia allows for her words to sink in, then releases her grasp.

It's easy. I can tell her right now who Nina is exactly. Standing here beneath this purple haze of artificial light, the lines on Julia's face are ones of resignation and pity; she cares too much for me sometimes. But I understand, for we're nearly the same after all. Both about twenty-four, both new to this game and to this job, both fresh out of college and doing everything possible to survive in the real world, constantly striving to prove ourselves worthy. And once you meet someone like Nina, at first you're not quite sure what to do.

Julia takes a bite of her tuna sandwich and chews in silence, brown eyes unreadable, yet I know she's trying to guess what I'm thinking. She's always been analytical, calm, intuitive. If I wanted, I could answer her questions, add some color to those gray lenses she seemed to be looking out of. She's brilliant, one of the smartest women I know, but I keep my silence, for I know that she won't understand. The truth will be spoken, but now isn't the time.

"I'll see you at lunch then," I sigh, walking away from the Native American woman.

"St—"

"Don't worry, I'll be there. I'm just going to the office for something," I reply, but that still doesn't ease the suspicion on Julia's face.

In the office, I sit at my desk, which is illuminated by a single desk lamp. It casts a dingy glow onto the mountains of papers, but even if it had been completely dark, I would have still found it. Beneath one stack, I remove the single letter Nina wrote, a long, long time ago to her son, Steve Fox.

Sighing, I read the letter again and again, like I had done countless times before.

Why doesn't she remember?

* * *

**Fair-haired Siren**

"Trust me sir, she is the best of the best."

Marco took a lethargic drag from his cigar, letting the smoke envelop his nostrils as he closed his eyes and listened to the report. Leonardo began to babble, and he lifted up a finger to silence him. All of these lies were giving him a headache.

"It is taking me three months—three _fucking_ months—to get rid of this rat Mariano. I have gone through all of the best, Leonardo. Face it: nobody can kill him," he growled, crushing the end of the cigar onto an ashtray, "and now you expect me to believe that some _woman_ can do the job better than all of my men? Bah!"

Leonardo, eyes cast downward, did not know how to reply. His boss was clearly displeased, and silence was often one of the safer means of avoiding death.

Marco smiled slowly to himself as he gazed at Leonardo; he liked the smell of fear, especially when it benefited himself, and Leonardo reeked of it. And anyway, the man was not a bad worker; in fact, Leonardo had been one of Marco's first recruits, and had proven himself the most loyal of all his subjects. Death would not come for him_ too _soon.

But this was his last chance to prove himself, and if he blew it, Leonardo would be at Marco's mercy. The man knew this well and kept his silence before his boss.

Marco reclined onto the scarlet leather chair and folded his hands over his chest, eyes narrowed, as if inspecting a particularly loathsome insect.

Finally, he said softly, "You do know what it means if you fail, Leon."

"Yes. But you must trust me, Sir; this woman is unlike any other. I have seen her work," replied Leonardo shakily.

Gesturing reluctantly with one hand, Marco rumbled, "Show her to me then. Let us hope that you are right."

Exhaling softly in relief, Leonardo hastily made for the door and ushered the woman in. She entered silently, her expression a mask of cold stone, azure eyes steely and penetrating as she stared boldly into Marco's face. Long blonde hair, pulled back into a taut ponytail, cascaded down her back, a few stray bangs falling to caress a pale cheek. And although she was about average height, she walked proudly, fearlessly, as if a queen, elegant and confident. Her physique, slender, muscled, a great cat, revealed her strength; to Marco, who watched in wordless fascination, she was flawless, marble's cold perfection. Beautiful—perhaps _too _beautiful—and for a fleeting moment Marco thought it a shame that such loveliness should be wasted on such a ruthless, bloody profession. However, this only made her more appealing.

But the thought passed quickly as a new idea entered his mind: perhaps this woman could be much _more_. Perhaps that loveliness could be put to good use. Marco chuckled slightly at the notion, but Leonardo, knowing very well of his master's tainted thoughts, hastily shook his head, hoping Marco would heed the warning. For though attractive, this woman was anything but a tool for the carnal desires. She was fierce, a predator, bloodthirsty, merciless, the fair-haired siren, treacherous beauty laced with death's caresses as her angelic song lured men to their doom. And though he'd tried, Leonardo had failed to conceal his fear for her.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but quickly vanished.

"Well, well, well. Leon neglected to tell me how lovely of a woman he had found," Marco rumbled, rising from his seat.

Silence from the woman, but her icy gaze remained. Eyes narrowing, she stood motionless as the burly Italian man approached, his foul breath reaching her nose. Unable to control himself, Marco reached out and ran a long finger along the length of her jaw.

"Please do not touch me," the blonde woman stated coolly, teeth clenching in an effort to keep the rage in check.

Marco laughed heartily yet kept his hands to himself this time as he continued to examine her.

"Why are you here?" he asked after a moment.

"To finish the job your men failed to accomplish," she replied calmly, her eyes never leaving his.

"And why should I hire you?" Marco whispered with a smile, leaning in close.

"I am the best sir," she stated, and it was fact, not arrogance, that made her answer in this way. For she was, indeed, the best.

Marco contemplated this for a moment, then said, "All right; prove it. Kill him."

And the boss pointed a meaty finger at Leonardo.

They watched, Marco and the rest of his men, as before Leonardo could run or protest, Nina was behind him. In a single moment his head was within her grasp, and he emitted a slight gurgle, a choked sigh, as the life was twisted from him. Neck broken, Leonardo collapsed to the ground; so much for being the most loyal.

"Satisfied? Or do you prefer bullets," the woman stated emotionlessly.

Marco laughed. "Clean and concise! But that was easy. Any of my men could have done that."

"Yes. But can they kill the elusive Mariano Vega? You want him dead."

"Indeed."

To make a long story short, three hours later Mariano Vega was found dead in an alley, his stomach ripped open, his blood in the headlines of the front page of the newspaper the next morning.

Marco smiled at the woman before him, who still smelled faintly of Vega's blood.

"You're hired, Ms. Williams."

* * *

**An Old Acquaintance**

The same slop every Wednesday: mashed potatoes and gravy, some dry turkey sandwich, a paper cup of bruised grapes, and a carton of milk.

I take my tray and go to the usual spot, the table at the end of the cafeteria that sits beneath a small skylight. Bryan sits stooped over his plate of shit in the corner, away from the light; he hates sunlight. No wonder he's so goddamn pale. He only agreed to sit in this spot because I'd insisted on it, and as it turns out, we are the only two that sit at the table anyway. I guess all the others are too afraid.

"You're here early," I say, taking the seat across from him.

He grunts in response and shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth.

I begin to eat, not because the food's actually good, but because if I don't, the damn nurses won't get off my back. Back in my assassin days, I ate a lot more because my job required it; I needed a substantial amount of energy in order to hunt and kill people after all. But here, where the most exercise you get is pacing your little room over and over again, food isn't so big of a deal.

Taking a grape, round and plump and purple, I squeeze it between my two fingers, the sticky juice running down my hand. I imagine it would taste sweet. I contemplate whether I should eat it; I think about pomegranate seeds and how the crimson juices would stain my fingertips…

Wiping the juice off my hand with a napkin, I place the grapes onto Bryan's plate. He eats them without question, doesn't even look up from his tray. Persephone might have a chance at the light come spring, but Bryan's already lost in the dark, so why should one more grape matter?

Sipping my milk, I stare at the assortment of tattoos and scars etched into my companion's pale skin. He notices me looking and smiles that twisted smile of his, face contorted and eyes expressionless; his face isn't built for smiles. Flexing his biceps, he flashes me a new scar he'd earned fighting with one of his nurses—again. I raise my eyebrows in acknowledgement and pretend to be preoccupied with my food, forcing down a gulp of milk so that'd he stop with those creepy grins.

Bryan Fury is a real character. Aside from the fact that he's sadistic, has major anger problems, can't seem to ever die (I'm not joking when I say this. I saw a bullet fly into his brain and he was still walking upright) and is just plain scary to look at, he has the worst taste in women—for years he's been infatuated with Anna, and maybe still is. Also,we've both killed our fill of people, but he and I couldn't be more different.

"These grapes are good. You sure you don't want 'em?" he growls, and his gray eyes meet mine.

"I'm sure," I reply as I finish my turkey sandwich. "So…anything new happen?"

"Aside from the scar? Nope."

"Well, what'd he do this time? Try to touch you without rubber gloves?"

"No," he says, a grape disappearing into his mouth. "He looked at me funny. Had one of those lazy eye twitches or whatever. It bugged me."

"So you punched him."

"Yup."

"Oh."

There's Bryan for you. And people think _I'm_ crazy.

We sit in silence for awhile, listening to the hum of conversations at the nearby tables, and watching as gray clouds crawl in to stifle the streaks of sun, darkening the skylight. The dark always finds a way in somehow. I am so sick of this hellhole.

"Hey, Nina," says Bryan.

"What."

"That kid over there keeps staring at you. And it doesn't look like he wants an autograph."

Sighing, I turn halfheartedly to where Bryan points, and notice a young Asian man about three tables away hunched over, eyes narrowed and filled with utter hatred; hm, another one to add to my steadily growing fan club. His hair is spiky, shoulders broad…

"He looks familiar," I murmur to myself.

"He's new," says Bryan, "was put into the cell next to mine a couple days ago. I heard he went nutso after his little girlfriend was slashed or whatever. The poor bastard never says a word."

Something in my mind clicks, whirs. Flashes of images, lights, of calliope music, and a long white dress stained with red…the silver tears on his face as he held her in his arms. The pieces are there, but I can't make out the entire picture. It hurts a little, and I wince as Bryan continues to talk mindlessly.

"…Heihachi's grandson, you know, the guy who kidnapped you and…"

There. The final piece. And the memory bursts forth. I remember him now, and I begin to laugh softly as Jin Kazama rises from his seat and makes his way towards my table.

"Well Bryan, something interesting is going to happen after all," I say to my friend, and stand up from my chair.


	3. Vengeance

So it's been over a year since I last updated. Sorry. Hopefully that won't happen again. Nina's story continues. Enjoy. --_Sage Pagan_

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**3: Vengeance **

Jin's gaze never leaves mine as he approaches Bryan and me from across the cafeteria, eyes ablaze with fury, shoving people out of his way; I smile, waiting. I can already feel the sweet bursts of adrenaline within me; it's been ages since I've had a decent fight. The occasional hair pulling and childish nails-and-teeth brawls I'd experienced with my fellow peers had never been sufficient. Fists clenched, the young Japanese man, teeth bared like a wolf, begins to run, and the little hairs on my arms and back of my neck rise slightly as I feel the electricity in my opponent beginning to form. Tiny sparks flutter at Jin's fingertips, his eyes flash red momentarily, and a low snarl begins in the back of his throat. I am not frightened in the least. "Fatal Lightning" my ass, I smirk, and sidestep at the last second, sending him careening into the concrete wall behind me.

"Well, well, well. I didn't think I'd ever see _you_ again," I laugh, circling him, "couldn't face the truth, could you."

Jin recovers quickly and merely growls again, taking up his fighting stance. A crowd begins to form around us—my happy little family of psychos with their tattered white gowns and bedraggled hair, their brains fried of dreams and hopes, bewildered with the sudden action before them. Smirking, I realize that this is probably the only excitement they'd get in the next twenty years or so, the poor bastards; I guess I better put on a good show. Out of the corner of my eye I can already see three security guards making their way towards us. Bring on the chaos.

"You! You took her from me," the Japanese man seethes, "I knew you'd be in here. I've finally found you!"

I laugh heartily, and Bryan flashes me a grin. This is going to be better than I thought. There's no motivation better than a broken heart.

"It's nice to see you too, Jin Kazama. But vengeance won't bring your woman back. I made sure of that," I sneer, and send a vicious front snap kick that should have dislocated his jaw.

But Jin is fast and dodges the blow with ease. The uppercut comes out of nowhere, setting off little white explosions in the back of my eyes, and I crash to the ground. Shaking my head, I recover quickly from the pain, rubbing my chin. The world spins, but I force myself upright and smile at him as he advances, blocking every jab and kick he sends my way.

"If you kill me you will spend eternity in here. Now is that what you want, son of the Mishima's?" I murmur in his ear when I am close enough. Kneeing him in the gut, Jin grunts, staggering backwards.

"It doesn't matter," he snarls, "I have nothing left; Xiao _will_ be avenged!"

"How touching," I smile before seizing him by the shirt collar and flinging him over my head.

However, the attack proves useless. Flipping backwards, the Japanese man recovers, and comes at me so quickly that I barely have time to react. Forced to defend, I hold up my hands to shield my face, my forearms beginning to redden and bruise with the fury of his fists. Moments later I find an opening and duck, sweeping Jin's feet out from under him. Not waiting for him to recover, I quickly seize one of his legs, lock it between my own two, and twist violently, feeling the satisfying crunch as his knee cap surrenders beneath my grip. Jin refuses to cry out, merely inhales sharply, then seizes my shirt and flings me away.

As my head collides with the floor, I taste blood on my tongue: coppery, bittersweet—my favorite flavor. The impact is so hard it brings back a flood of memories. It reminds me of the good times, of late nights under a full moon with my silver knife in hand, hunting, seeking. It reminds me of the bad times, of pain and failure, of Anna's scarlet hues and the whirlwind of choking, blinding hatred. Moaning, my head pounds as the memories collide, bursting forth in a waterfall of incoherent images, and I clutch at my head.

White light. _A man, dark hair…Father? The emerald coasts of Ireland. But no, now it's blonde hair. The blinding lights of a boxing ring. Pleading, eyes blue with questions—this one has my eyes. My God, he has my eyes. What? _

White light._ Anna's laughter, a bullet grazing the air beside me. But no, now there's an aquamarine pool and the rough sand between my toes, Anna smiling behind gigantic sunglasses. Where—_

White light. _The other blonde man…in a white lab coat, clipboard in hand, eyes blue with questions. _

White light._ The tears and the blood of a Chinese girl, the brutal contrast of red on white. But wait—_

White light.The lights of the psych ward. The fight at hand. Jin Kazama.

Squeezing my eyes shut, the world reels as I plummet back to the present.

Pomegranate seed, poor wretched soul; the light rejects Persephone once again. She must contend with the darkness first…

Swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth, the flashes of memory vanish, and I glare at my opponent as Bryan rushes to my side, helping me regain balance.

"That bastard! You want me to—" he begins in a rage, and I know he's itching for the fight too, lusts for fresh blood.

"No. He's mine. He will share his lover's fate," I snarl, shaking myself away from Bryan, "His vengeance is nothing compared to mine. He will pay for what Heihachi did to me."

Jin Kazama staggers upright, biting his lip as he restrains his cries of pain, his left leg hanging useless.

"This looks familiar," I smirk, and rush him.

But just then the security guards finally reach us, seize me by the waist, and throw me against the concrete wall. The air is flung from my chest, but I turn and resist, pummeling each guard that dares touch me. Smirking, I lash out at a young brunette attempting to grab my wrists, destroying his nose beneath my palm. Out of the corner of my eye I see the woman psychiatrist and Dr. Wolf heading my way. After taking down the last of the security guards, I turn to face the woman.

"Julia, don't," warns Dr. Wolf, but the woman ignores him and continues to advance, fists clenched.

Smiling, I lunge at her, kicking viciously, but she dodges the attack and instead sends a flurry of jabs into my solar plexus. Crying out, I stumble to the floor, but roll away in time as her palm strike nearly misses my throat. Regaining my balance, I tackle her and seize her in a headlock. She squirms and writhes within my grip, and with each movement my hold on her tightens. She is a fighter, her physique and energy tells me that, and she resists wonderfully, but I hold on, refusing to let go. Above me, my eyes meet the fierce azure gaze of Dr. Wolf, and I almost pity the fear that I see there.

But just as I begin to think that I have won, the woman doctor bites me, drawing blood, and I scream, releasing her. In one swift motion I am pinned on my stomach, and the doctor wastes no time. After subduing me with a couple bone-crushing elbow strikes, she digs into her pocket and removes a hypodermic needle filled with a strange yellowish substance. I resist her fiercely, the taste of copper filling my mouth and nostrils again, but she's stronger than I'd perceived and easily holds me down as she jabs the needle into my flesh.

"No!" I hear Jin cry out, his plans of revenge having been interrupted, but Dr. Wolf pins him to the wall.

The sedative works quickly, and soon all is blurry. The lights grow dim, and somewhere in the distance I can hear Bryan's cries of fury, but the security guards hold him back too. Then, all is dark.

**Daddy's Little Girl **

"Anna, you're not getting anymore bangers if you don't eat your mash."

The eight-year-old turned up her nose in response, crossing her arms. She'd always been a picky eater, and besides, her mother knew how much she loathed mash, so why should she succumb to the rules? It wasn't fair.

Her blonde sibling, silent and obedient, sat across from her with her cool gaze, blue eyes calm as she observed the whole exchange in mild amusement. Anna despised how her older sister could remain so collected and indifferent in nearly every situation; she often used this notorious characteristic to her advantage by blaming her wrongdoings on Anna. After all, how could such a "peaceful" child do wrong? So, being the more sensitive and hot-tempered of the pair, Anna nearly always took the fall.

When their mother wasn't watching, Nina smirked at her sister, opened her mouth, and devoured another banger languorously, then ended her display with a swift flick of her tongue, loving how Anna's face contorted in fury. It was amusing and it was easy; she'd always known exactly how to irritate her younger sister.

"Ma, Nina's mocking me," Anna snarled through clenched teeth as her small hands gripped the table edge to keep from attacking her sister.

"Nina," their mother warned, to no avail; the moment she looked away, Nina rolled her eyes and silently mimicked her sibling.

Growling, Anna lunged across the table, took her sister's glass of water in her hands, and drenched the blonde girl with the contents. Enraged, Nina leaped up, tipping her chair over, and retaliated. Seizing her sibling, the blonde practiced the new choke hold maneuver her mother had recently taught her that very morning during a sparring session.

With an exhausted sigh, Heather Williams closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "Richard, your daughters are at it again."

"Can't you deal with them?" he called out from his study. Fights like these were, unfortunately, quite frequent between the two, and both parents were more than weary of having to deal with them daily.

"Richard, you know they only listen to you," the woman grumbled, beginning to clear the table as Anna promptly ripped out a lock of Nina's hair.

Wiping a bead of perspiration from her brow, Heather Williams automatically shut out the noises of her daughters' fight; she'd grown quite talented at tuning them out as the years had droned on. Humming a tune under her breath, she turned on the faucet and began to wash the dishes. She was an attractive woman with long blond hair and striking blue eyes, her figure slender and muscled from years of Aikido training; she was the near spitting image of what her eldest daughter would later mature into.

But unlike Heather, Nina had inherited her father's quiet nature and stoic front, a quality that Richard, a cold-blooded member of the Irish mafia, had instantly favored. Even as a young girl, Nina had quickly learned to mask her emotions, revealing only a cold façade in their place. Since these were key qualities in becoming an assassin, Nina became her father's favorite. Unfortunately, though she possessed her father's dark features, Anna had her mother's heart. Emotional and sensitive, Anna had proven to be the "weaker" candidate when it came to the arts of assassination; the girl could barely kill a spider without fretting or crying after all. Thus, Richard rarely paid her any heed.

And because of this Anna hated her sister; it obviously had nothing to do with bangers. Like everything else, food was merely another excuse to start a fight. Grunting, she shoved her sister away with a vicious jab, but screamed as Nina gave her arm a painful twist.

Heather was more than a little resentful towards her two children. True, she loved them more than anything, how could a mother not—yet she failed to understand the hatred that boiled between them. Since they were old enough to walk, Heather had taught them Aikido while Richard had exclusively bestowed upon Nina the arts of assassination, to Heather's great disdain. Nevertheless, both girls had demonstrated a prowess for the martial arts, yet refused to use them for anything except petty quarrels; they were each other's punching bags. It wasn't your typical eight-year-old verbal spit either, or a casual smack in the face; it was all out physical war, a test of skill and stamina, which both girls possessed. So, naturally, the fights were often long, not to mention noisy.

"Bollocks, Richard, Anna's bleeding!" Heather called to her husband once more as blood oozed from a cut on Anna's forehead. "You know they won't stop unless _you _make them!"

It was true. Both girls loved their mother dearly, but it was their father to whom they had given their respect. Only he could restore order and peace. It was their father's attention they craved.

Smiling to himself, Richard rose from his study and entered the kitchen.

"Come now, dears," he crooned as he separated the sisters with ease. His daughters immediately ceased battle and looked up into his face, eyes begging for attention and praise. Richard smiled to himself, amazed at how much complete power he had over his children.

"Heather, take Anna," he commanded as he took hold of Nina's hand.

"But Da—" Anna began, her face contorting in sorrow at the betrayal, but Richard had made his decision.

"Take Anna," he repeated, gently pushing his younger daughter to his wife, "As for Nina and I, we're going for a little stroll."

Behind his back, Nina smirked at her sibling; she knew full well how much her father favored her. With that, Richard and his daughter left, leaving Heather to deal with a weeping, fuming Anna.

Galway was calm tonight, unusually tranquil, and a cool sea breeze tiptoed in from the north. Because of Heather's adamant demands, the Williams family had moved from Cork the year before. The city's crime rates were on the rise, and Heather refused to raise her daughters in such hostile environments. Had it been up to Richard, he would have remained in the city for as long as he saw fit; the more crime the better. In his opinion, it was the best kind of environment for his daughters to hone and test their martial arts skills; not to mention it would also teach them a thing or two about how to survive in the streets. But, in order to keep his wife content and to keep her from discovering the whereabouts of the Morrigan Brotherhood, (the Irish Mafia, which had recently relocated to Cork. Dublin had been too conspicuous a spot), Richard had reluctantly agreed to the transition.

The great River Corrib was gilded in gold and violet tonight, for the stubborn rays of sun clung tightly to the sky, refusing to surrender to night's darker complexion. Not that the people of Galway noticed. Day or night, something was always happening in the city. But from the north, the breeze brought with it black clouds and the promise of rain. Nina stared into the sky, blue eyes turning gray as the clouds devoured the sun.

"It's going to rain, Da," she murmured, and her father nodded.

"C'mere, let's go to the harbor," he smiled, giving her hand a squeeze. He knew how much his daughter loved the harbor. Hopefully the rain would hold out.

Picking up a flat stone, Richard flung it into the water, watching his daughter's eyes light up as it skipped three times across the surface. However, though he detected Nina's pleasure, a smile never took form on her mouth.

"You mustn't fight with Anna so much," he said after a moment, "you should love her."

Nina smirked, knowing her father was just going through the same old obligatory spiel. After a moment he'd tell her his true feelings.

Richard smiled to himself, staring out into the harbor. No ships or swimmers today. The weather had seen to that. Overhead, the clouds continued to advance, growling a warning, and people scurried to find shelter from the imminent storm. But the Irishman merely gave his daughter's ponytail a loving tug.

"I know she can be irritating, love, but it really drives your ma up the wall. You should control yourself more."

"I know, Da." Of course she knew. Of course Richard was right. She loved him more than anything after all.

"But one day Nina, you will face foes worthier than your sister. You're extremely talented; Anna is nothing compared to you. I know your mother wants you only to use your skills in times of defense. But come now…"

At this Richard looked down into his daughter's eyes, and a small smile finally unfurled on her lips. Here was the truth.

"…sometimes those bastards really deserve it. Daddy deals with those men every day, and sometimes it's fun to give them a good kick or two."

Nina's smile widened. Little did she know that the Irish Mafia did much, much more than just give their enemies a little "kick or two."

"So, don't waste your skills on mere self defense, love. Do you understand me? Only the weak restrict themselves that way. You must initiate; you must show the world your power. I know you're going to make a wonderful assassin some day."

"I'd love that," the ten-year-old beamed, though at the time she had no idea what this profession entailed. She just wanted to see the pride in her father's eyes.

Richard's eyes darkened. "Yes. I know you will. You definitely have the heart for it, little one…"

With a final sigh of thunder, the clouds finally dealt the earth its wrath; the sky wept. Closing her eyes, Nina welcomed the cold rain on her skin, opening her mouth so that the water could slither down her throat and play across her tongue.

The rain came down, down, down, washing away the remnants of the day, and the world bloomed emerald. The rain came down, down, down, washing away the remnants of the innocence, and her heart bloomed darkness.

**Dr. Chang**

After tightening the last of the restraints on the straitjacket, the guards leave me alone with Jin Kazama, the door shutting quietly behind them. We sit there together, facing one another, Jin on his white bed, me in a metal stool across the room. His face is swollen, violet bruises and thick cuts dotting his skin from Nina's attacks; a wooden splint keeps his destroyed knee in place. Here is a man broken in both bone and spirit; I pity him.

He is quiet, too quiet, unlike Nina, filled to the brim with sarcasm and bitterness. Instead he merely sighs softly and closes his eyes, his normally spiky hair greasy and disheveled. He has an even more terrible past than most of the patients here at Osiris Institute, and it had been no surprise when he'd arrived a month ago after the brutal murder of his girlfriend. But for this quiet, relatively peaceful man to suddenly lash out is a dangerous, uncommon occurrence, and I have been chosen to see to it that nothing like this ever happens again—which is unlikely with Nina here.

"I know everything about you, Jin Kazama. Your files hold a great many…interesting things," I murmur, leaning forward.

Jin is silent still, but I know he listens.

"I know your father is Kazuya Mishima, and I know about the so called 'Devil Gene' in his blood—and in yours as well. I know of Jun, and your close relationship with her. I know of the Zaibatsu. I once fought for its downfall; so of course, that would mean that I also know your grandfather, Heihachi, the man who raised you. He is also the man who kidnapped Miss Williams and conducted terrible experiments on her."

Jin murmurs something, but I do not hear it, and dismiss the thought.

Continuing, I say, "I know much more, but we won't go any further. Here in Osiris we try and reveal all secrets. You've a right to your secrets, Mr. Kazama, but know that you're not helping yourself in holding back. We want—need—to help you."

Jin rolls his eyes.

"But what I wanted to talk to you about was why you attacked Miss Williams. You do not have a history of violence after all, except during times of defense."

He smiles now, lips cracked and swollen, lifts his head as our eyes meet. "I guess your files don't tell you everything about me after all. Didn't you speak with Dr. Wolf? He knows."

"No. I want to hear it from you."

At this Jin leans forward, his face grim. "She's a murderer; she's the one responsible. She killed the woman I loved, the one thing that brought meaning to my life. How can you let her live? How can you even be trying to help her after she did such a thing?"

I am silent as Jin fails to keep his sorrow hidden, his strangled sobs echoing off the bleached walls. My anger increases tenfold, the hatred for this killer multiplying. Damn her! If I was Jin, I might have done the same thing as well. Clenching my teeth, I scribble some nonsense notes into my notebook, keeping my head down so my patient remains ignorant of my emotions.

However, I am a doctor, a professional. I cannot let my emotions rule my decisions in a place like this. _Especially_ in a place like this. Calming some, I allow reason to take over.

"You were wrong, Jin. Nina is not—she is not right in the head," I say, forcing the lie past my mouth.

But the Japanese man isn't stupid. He sees right through it all. "You would have done the same. That woman does not deserve help."

I'd had enough. Regardless of how hard I try, the emotions continue to heighten; I cannot let Jin see me this way. "You need rest, Mr. Kazama. That knee of yours won't heal if you—"

"Does she have family? Any children? Any friends you know of?" he interjects suddenly, eyes penetrating mine.

They are odd questions, and I guess I should have refused him an answer; what is he up to this time? Yet, wanting to escape quickly, I answer without thinking, "She has a sister, Anna, and a son, though I do not know his name."

Jin smirks, a disturbing smile lurking about his chapped lips. "A son? Perfect…"

Perplexed, I say, "Sorry?"

"I will find this son of hers and destroy him in front of her eyes, just like she did to Xiao. I could kill Nina easily, but I realize now that death is too generous a fate for that woman. She needs to know what I have known. Don't worry, Dr. Chang. I will find her son. I've all the time in the world; I have nothing else left to lose after all," says Jin, his eyes like glass marbles.

He smiles again then closes his eyes, leaving me alone with the silence and the questions. Had he been any other patient, I would have overlooked his remarks as insignificant rants. They're pretty common around here after all, unfortunately. However, I cannot explain the icy chill that slithers up my back without warning, spreading goose bumps across my skin. Staring at Jin's peaceful, prostrate form, I wonder what I have just provoked.

In my heart I know that this is no rant of the insane. For I know the ways of the Mishima family.

Once they commit themselves to vengeance, rest assured, one way or another, it shall be done.


End file.
